by Cheri Allan
“I wish I could, but for reasons I’d rather not get into, I feel it’s the right time to be assessing my options.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“I know, out loud it sounds like mumbo-jumbo. I’m sure it was a first chapter in one of those books, but they have a point. I’m thir— Let’s just say I find myself at a certain age where I should know what I want to do when I grow up, don’t you think?”
“People change. I don’t know that I thought about doing what I do now when I was younger. But I enjoy it. It just evolved. Sometimes you just have to let things happen.”
“But you’re still doing what you were always passionate about. You loved to make beautiful things out of wood when you were younger—and you still do. I— I don’t know what my passion is. Do you have any idea how inadequate that makes me feel?”
“Inadequate? How can you— All you have to do is look around you to see the positive impact you’ve made on this place in the short time you’ve been here.”
“Anybody can pull weeds. Even Liam can.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s like you have a way of seeing what other people overlook. You have a vision of how things could be in your mind’s eye, and then you work your magic, and—poof!—it’s something new. I’ve seen what you did with the ice chest, Gram’s kitchen. And here.” His arm swept around the front yard. “I can’t believe you feel inadequate. You have a gift.”
“For cleaning up? Thanks.” She swiped the sweat from her brow. “But weeding doesn’t pay the bills.”
“Have you thought about going back to school? You said you were only a few credits shy of finishing your degree.”
She chuckled humorously. “Yeah. That’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t cut yourself short. You could always apply…”
“I have.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” His face registered sympathy. “I’m sure there are other schools…”
“I was accepted.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. That’s good news, isn’t it?”
Kate shook her head. “I thought so. At the time. But going back to school hinges on so many things falling into place… there’s no way it can happen now. And, really, if I’m honest with myself, how impractical is an art history degree? I’m a widowed mother who has worked as a secretary for ten years. Who’s going to want me running their gallery or acquiring pieces for their collection? When I think about how naive and frivolous I was to have chosen that as my major, it makes me sick to my stomach.
“I don’t even know why I chose it. I could have been an accountant or computer programmer. Something practical.”
“Why did you choose it?”
Kate shrugged and looked out over the lake. Good question. Because I was sheltered and privileged? Because my mother insisted it made me sound cultured? Because there was a time I didn’t know what it was to worry about money, because, like her, I had a husband to do that for me?
She turned to Jim. “Because I never thought I’d have to depend on myself.”
“You make it sound like you’re alone.”
“It’s the truth. No sense lying to myself about it.”
He stepped closer. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so alone if you stopped pushing people away.”
She stepped back. “I’m not— I need to stand on my own two feet.”
“By throwing away the chance to go back to school? Sounds more like you’re intent on shooting yourself in the foot.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No? It’s a chance to get a degree so you can open up your options. You say your major is frivolous, but how frivolous is it to throw away a chance to finish what you started? How many people would kill to have a college degree to fall back on? And here you are throwing it away without even trying to see if it’ll work.”
“I don’t even know what I want yet—”
“Christ!” He made a sudden, impatient movement. “Maybe you should stop wringing your hands and worrying about your passion and just try moving forward for a change. All you do is throw up your hands and say how much things will never work!”
She stepped back in surprise at his outburst. “I don’t see how they can.”
“Newsflash, Kate, none of us has a crystal ball. That’s life. Just because things haven’t worked out in the past doesn’t mean you should stop trying.”
“Says the man who can’t say he loves a woman.”
His lips compressed. “This isn’t about me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She grabbed her weeding bucket off the walkway. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go get cleaned up. I’m having dinner with my parents—who also enjoy second-guessing my every decision in life. Thanks for the pep talk.”
He ran a weary hand through his hair. “I wasn’t second—”
“You were,” she said. “But I’m done with people telling me what do to.”
“Kate…”
“No.” She shook his hand off her arm. “I’m not having this conversation with you. You don’t get it. Nobody gets it. Don’t you see? I’m terrified of moving forward. Terrified that I’m doomed to keep making the same impulsive, stupid choices in life.
“But when I think about going back… to a job I know is safe and secure… I can’t breathe.” She felt her arms grow cold despite the sunshine. “It’s like my future is closing in and there’s no way out. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that going back would mean I’m giving up hoping for something better. And… and I can’t bring myself to give up on me quite yet.”
She stared at him in the silence that followed, her chest rising and falling, feeling brittle and defiant all at once.
But then he took the bucket, set it down and tugged her hand until she sat beside him on the porch steps. He blew out a breath. “No one’s asking you to give up on yourself.”
“You think I’m giving up,” she said. “But I’m not. I’m not throwing my hands up in despair. I’m not trying to quit. I’m trying to let go of the handlebars to see if I can do this without help.”
“I don’t understand what that—”
“I’m saying I know you mean well, but you’ve got to let me figure this out on my own.”
After a long moment, he nodded. “Okay,” he said, and he turned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that warm, lovely way that always turned Kate’s insides to jelly. “You may not believe it, but I do believe there’s something better waiting for you.”
“You’re talking to a practically unemployed widow,” she sighed. “It’d be hard not to go uphill from here.”
“I’LL HAVE DECAF TEA AND A SMALL milk for my son.” Liam was designing a rocket with his bread plate and butter knife. Kate hoped dinner arrived before he launched them into space. She could sense her mother’s disapproval even without making eye contact.
“Tea? When will you get over the fact it wasn’t you who had the drinking problem? Have a glass of wine. Enjoy today. You never know when your time may come. Besides, the flavinoids and antioxidants are extremely beneficial to your health. You’re looking wan.”
Kate concentrated on repositioning Liam’s napkin on his lap. “I happen to like tea. And I’m driving home after this.”
“Fine. Fine. I was just making a point. No need to be snippy.”
Kate rolled her eyes then let out a sigh of relief when she spied Nana approaching the table.
“Sorry I’m late.” Nana winked at Kate. “Happy early birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Hello, Mom,” murmured Kate’s mother.
“June,” her father acknowledged crisply.
Just like one big happy family. Kate took another sip of water. She half-listened as her parents filled Nana in on a recent fundraiser her mother had attended, the new décor at her father’s office...
“Mommy. Mommy!” Liam tugged at her sleeve and Kate felt a jolt of annoyance, not at her son, but at the fact that no one was actuall
y talking to either one of them by this point.
“Mommy!” Liam demanded again.
“What?”
“Happy buthday!”
Closing her eyes—in part to blot out her father’s frown at being interrupted but mostly to hold onto the sweetness of the moment a few seconds longer—Kate let her mouth curve into a smile. It didn’t matter that he was a few weeks early. It didn’t matter that he was currently squeezing a butter pat in his little fist just to feel it squish. What mattered was the heartfelt sincerity stuffed into those two words.
Kate wrapped her arm around his shoulders and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you, Pumpkin. I’m sure it will be a happy birthday. You know why?”
He shook his head then turned enthralled attention to the yellow ooze in his palm.
Kate kissed his head. “Because I have you.” She pulled a roll from the bread basket and pried it open. “Here, let’s make good use of that butter.”
Liam proceeded to smear his palm enthusiastically over the soft bread, took a bite and grinned.
Her mother frowned but not so much—Kate was sure to note—to cause permanent wrinkles. “Perhaps you ought to take Liam to wash before he gets grease stains on the linens.”
Kate let Liam finish his roll then took him to the bathroom.
As she lathered Liam’s hands in the ladies’ room and watched him try to pop the tiny bubbles floating in the air, it struck her that her parents never seemed truly happy. Her mother was always fretting, her father, seemed simply... resigned.
Have I been just like them? she wondered with no small bit of alarm. Have I moved through life trying to smooth the highs and lows into the same familiar blandness? Is that why Randy’s unpredictable, firebrand personality was so attractive?
Dad complained about his staff, Ma seemed ceaselessly taxed by ‘crises’ and yet neither seemed willing nor able to break free of it... to do what? What would they do? What was their passion?
What’s mine?
If Randy had moved up to sales manager, if we had stayed together, stayed in Connecticut, in thirty years would I have looked just like them?
Kate shuddered and bustled Liam out the door.
“Kate, I was just saying I ran into Rita Smith last week.” Her mother sipped her Bordeaux as Kate tried desperately to picture the woman in question. “She said if you wanted to retain a position for Liam at ABC Learning Center next fall, you’ll need to act fast.”
“You mean the Nazi Preschool?” Kate blurted, aghast.
Her mother pursed her lips. “Rita’s daughter has already retained positions for the twins.”
“What’s this ‘retained a position’ garbage?” Nana asked, buttering a roll. “Are these kids joining a law firm or entering preschool?”
“It’s very prestigious. I put Liam on the waitlist as soon as he was born. ”
“I told you I think they’re too rigid,” said Kate.
“That’s not what Randy thought,” her mother said. “He thought it an excellent idea.”
“Right. And he always exercised good judgment,” Nana sniffed. “Sorry, Katie.”
“It’s okay, Nana.”
“Anyway,” her mother continued, “I told her I’d pass the word.”
“Consider your duty fulfilled,” Kate replied, pretending to focus on dunking her teabag. They couldn’t help who they were. They couldn’t change it.
But she could.
“I’ve been thinking,” Kate said, setting down her spoon. Her heart felt light in her chest, but not in a bad way. “I think we should move.”
Conversation came to an abrupt halt as everyone turned toward her. Liam slurped his milk.
“Liam and I. I don’t know where we’ll live or what I’ll do, but I think it’s time to leave Connecticut.”
“Leave Connecticut?” her mother cried, as if Kate had just declared she planned to rocket to the moon/have a sex change/shave her head and live with the gypsies. Her mother took a fortifying sip of her wine. “Why?”
“We—I—need to start fresh somewhere new,” Kate said.
“What about your job at Spencer Academy?”
Kate set her tea in its saucer, feeling slightly light-headed. “I’m quitting.”
“You’re what? Edward, talk to her!”
“Don’t make any rash decisions,” her father advised. “You’re still in mourning.”
“I know it sounds rash, but there’s nothing keeping me there. It’s time.”
“What about your family?” her mother asked, her injured tone causing Kate pangs of guilt. “Sandy already misses playing with Liam. What will she do if you move?”
“I’d still be near family if I moved to Sugar Falls.”
“Move here? You can’t be serious.”
“And why not?” Nana asked, coming to Kate’s defense. “I think it an excellent idea. I planned to sell the house in Connecticut, anyway.”
“Since when? You haven’t mentioned it before,” Kate’s mother demanded.
“Since this evening.” Nana patted Kate’s arm. “Not out from under you, Katie. But soon. You’re right. It’s time. I wasn’t ready to give it up right after your grandfather died. But now... my home is here. And if you don’t need it anymore…”
“This is all well and good, Katherine,” her father began, “but where will you live here? More importantly, how will you get by? You have a career in Connecticut, or have you forgotten?”
A career? Kate tried not to laugh. Her father had always minimized the importance of her ‘job’ in the past. Now, suddenly it was a career she couldn’t leave?
“Your father’s right. What will you do?” her mother gasped in dismay, as if Kate had just announced she were pregnant or something.
Hmm. Better save that bit of news for another time.
“Maybe Mrs. Pearson will rent the cottage for a while. I’ll figure it out. But it’s time I took the next step in life. It’s time I found my passion.”
“Your what?”
“Her passion, Anne. Her passion,” Nana reiterated. “Something you’d know precious little about.”
“You’re making a mistake,” her father prophesized grandly. “You have responsibilities, Katherine. A son to consider. We’d never let you starve, but...”
But, if you had to bail me out, it would be on your terms, not mine, she finished silently. Was she crazy to think she could pull together an income, a home and be independent and happy? Maybe she was. But as she looked at her mother and father, as she pictured what her life would be like in ten or twenty years if she stayed with the status quo, she knew she couldn’t not try.
Kate met Nana’s gaze over Liam’s head, gratefully absorbed the encouraging smile she met there. “Maybe I am making a mistake,” she finally agreed. “But I don’t think so.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
____________________
“OFFER HER A JOB,” Ruth Pearson ordered as she set the plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of her grandson. It was his favorite, or at least, one of his favorites. God bless him, Jim had never been a picky eater.
“A what?”
“A job. Employment. You must have something she can do. Filing? Typing? Cleaning?” Ruth smiled as she spooned sauce over another heaping plate. She and the ladies had quickly decided that if Kate were to move to town, she’d need an income, and what more happy situation than if she were working—day in and day out—next to her future husband?
Okay. Fine. It wasn’t a given Jim and Kate would get together, but it was possible, wasn’t it? Plus, there’d been the sign in the cards. And other signs as well. Maybe her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, but Ruth could spot goo-goo eyes in young people a mile away.
Call her heavy-handed and interfering, but she was too old to wait around for opportunity to knock without holding the door open a wee bit.
“Why would I offer Kate a job?” Jim wanted to know.
“She needs to work doesn’t she?”
“
Doesn’t she have a job?” This from Carter as he helped himself to more meatballs and sauce and relieved Ruth of the plate.
“In Connecticut, yes. But she’s moving, and I thought—”
“Watch out,” mumbled Carter around a mouthful of meatball.
Ruth sent him a withering glance, “—she’ll need an income.”
“Kate’s moving where? To Sugar Falls?” Jim asked.
Ruth pursed her lips. “Perhaps it’s not my place to say. I thought she might have mentioned it to you already.”
“Why would you think that?”
Jim was eyeing her suspiciously. Lord, she wasn’t good at this whole subtle thing. “Didn’t you go to the fireworks together?”
Jim spoke to his plate. “Not a great opportunity for conversation what with all the explosives overhead, Grams.”
“Well, now you know. So, do you have anything for her, or not?”
“I don’t think she’d appreciate a hand-out. What is she even qualified to do?”
“Qualified?” Okay, now he was annoying her.
“Is she organized?” Carter asked. “Because we could use help in the office. It wouldn’t be full-time, but it would be something.”
“Great,” Jim said. “Problem solved. She can work for Carter and Dad.”
Ruth paled. This was not at all what she and the ladies had planned. “Work for you?” she said as she watched Carter mound more meatballs on his plate.
“Sure. You know I hate dealing with paperwork, and now that Pops wants to reduce his hours, he’d prefer not to be stuck inside either. If she needs a job, I bet we could work something out. Should I ask her?”
“Oh, well...”
“Sounds like a good solution,” Jim cut in helpfully, if a bit sullenly.
“Yes, well...”
“Terrific. I’ll give her a call,” said Carter.
“Sorry I’m late. I got hung up.” Grace breezed in the side door and peered into a saucepan. “Ugh. Grams, didn’t you make any sauce without dead cow in it?”
“It’s in the fridge. You were so late, I thought you weren’t coming.”
“And miss your homemade sauce? Not a chance.” Grace kissed her on the cheek and waved at the boys. “Did I miss anything?”
